


Just the end of the world

by House_of_the_Lion



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drama & Romance, Family Drama, Gen, Modern Westeros, Sad, Siblings, The Author Regrets Everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 10:09:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28349673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/House_of_the_Lion/pseuds/House_of_the_Lion
Summary: It's been five years since we haven't seen each other, since I haven't seen her. Five years. We can't stand each other, we hate each other, we hate each other, yes. It happens that we are born into a family, into people whose closeness or blood ties we don't understand. We hate each other, we don't talk to each other, no more, no more since the accident, but she comes back, she comes back, to tell us that she's leaving, that she's leaving and that she won't come back, no more, no more. But we hate each other, so it's not the end of the world, is it?
Relationships: Cersei Lannister & Tyrion Lannister, Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	Just the end of the world

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for Black Angelis, who asked me a little while ago for a Cersei & Tyrion. Promised thing, due thing, so here is your gift, I hope you will like it ^^.
> 
> For your reading, I advise you to listen :  
> \- Cold Little Heart (Big Little Lies Main Title) [Piano Rendition] - L'Orchestra Cinematique  
> \- Fly - Ludovico Einaudi  
> \- Mad World (Piano Arrangement) - Alexandre Pachabezian  
> \- Sushi - Cocoon
> 
> As usual, the entire GoT universe belongs to G R R Martin, DB & DW.
> 
> Happy reading !

The weather is rather nice, for an October day, the sun is high and shining, the sky is blue, there is not a cloud, not one, the air is soft, almost pleasant.

Cersei stands on the porch, right in front of the door of the Lannister family manor house. Casterly Rock.

Five years old. Five years, it's been five years since she set foot there, five years since that fateful day when her twin brother died in a car accident, five years she's been alone, completely alone, she doesn't talk to her father or her brother anymore, what's the point, neither of them ever called her, she never called them either, they just went on with their lives, and anyway, she hates them both almost as much as she hates herself for surviving.

Finally, Tywin and Tyrion certainly went on with their lives, with the family business, and Cersei, well....

It is difficult to call what she has had for five years a life, she does not live, she cannot live, we cannot live without her other half, she does not live, we do not live by wanting to die every day, we do not live by dreaming of not waking up in the morning when the sun rises, we do not live when we only aspire to one thing, to die out, to only leave behind our body, while our soul flies away to another world, A better world perhaps, somewhere else, that's the only place Cersei wants to be, somewhere else, even if she's already there, in a way, she's been there for five years, because the doctors managed to save her from death when she didn't want to be saved, when she would have liked to be left to die in peace, to be refused to live, but even that had been too much to ask, even that, the doctors didn't want to give her.

They had let Jaime die, but not her, who knows why, they had saved her, as if they had the slightest right to decide to separate her from her twin brother, from another part of herself, from her other half, even if it wasn't the case, they had no right, to separate them, no one had the right, no one, no one had ever succeeded, not even their mother, when they were little, when she had discovered the forbidden games they were playing, forbidden, forbidden their love, that should have dissuaded them, repelled them, but it had not been the case, no, nothing dissuaded them, absolutely nothing, not the moral rules established by a random person, who had thought, she too, had the right to prevent human beings from loving each other, not their mother before her death, not people and their opinions, nothing.

They had gone on, after all, they loved each other, they loved each other, even if they had no right to, even if it was forbidden, even if it was wrong, they loved each other, they were the same in two bodies, they were two sides of the same person, they were a whole, it was by virtue of this that they had run away, that Jaime had refused his inheritance, when their father had forced them to choose between the family and themselves, it was them, it was them, it had always been them, it had always been them, it would always be them, always them, from the cradle, before, even, and after death, to the grave, that's what they told themselves, they would die together, at the same time, in the same place, in the same way, so they would be together forever.

Life had decided otherwise, and, if no one had succeeded in separating them, death had succeeded.

Cersei had since tried to join her brother, but each time death had not wanted her, each time she had woken up in a hospital bed, surrounded by doctors and nurses, smiling, laughing, thrilled to see that she had made it, each time she had to endure the questions, the sessions with psychologists, who would constantly ask her why she had done this, and who always ended up telling her, when she finally explained to them, that she had to grieve, that life was beautiful, that life had so much to offer her, that she had to move on, and who would stuff her with antidepressants and even more useless talk sessions.

But things had changed, yes, they had, when, a few months earlier, following the medical exams related to yet another suicide attempt, the doctors had told her what they thought was a tragedy.

A cancer.

Breast cancer.

They all looked distressed, we are sorry, sorry, Madam, they had tried to explain to her that there were possible treatments, we will try to cure you, we promise you, at your stage, it is still possible, but she hadn't even listened to them, what's the point, anyway, She wasn't going to cure herself, she didn't want to cure herself, she was just waiting for that, the great windfall, a fatal disease, a disease that would take her away and allow her to finally join Jaime, finally, after all these years spent waiting for that, she certainly wasn't going to let the opportunity go by.

At his last appointment, the doctor too had the dark features of a mania for looking sad when a patient was told of his impending, inexorable, inescapable death. He didn't know, couldn't know that it was all she could wish for, all she had been waiting for five years, since the fucking accident. He had told her with his lips, as if it were a secret, as if it were necessary above all not to say anything, as if it were taboo, death, that we shouldn't talk about it, perhaps because that would only make it more real, but everyone dies, some sooner than others, it's true, but all men must die, it's normal, it's the cycle of life.

The doctor didn't say anything at first, but she didn't need to, she understood, he expected her to scream, to cry, to storm, to sob, to scream, to scream, to rage, to deny, that's what the patients usually did, when they were told that they were going to die soon, they or their relatives who accompanied them to appointments, but not Cersei. She had remained stoic, had nodded her head, no emotion on her beautiful face, it's dead in there, it's already dead, it's been dead for a long time, it's been dead for five years, and then had ended up asking when, the doctor hadn't been able to answer precisely, soon, that's what he had said, a few weeks, months, years maybe if you're lucky.

She had thought that she should tell her father, then finally, what's the point, after all, it had been five years since she had seen him, since the funeral, he hadn't come to talk to her, an air of disappointment engraved on her hard, cold features, which hadn't left him since her older children had chosen to leave, to leave, to abandon the glorious and golden future he had planned for them, for him, for the family, that was all that mattered, all that mattered, the family, an air of disappointment that had lingered after the death of his son, his _heir_ , an air of disappointment that had pierced Cersei, an air of saying this is not normal, it's you, you, you who should be in that coffin, you, and Jaime there.

He hasn't heard from her once since, as if she had vanished, evaporated, as if she no longer existed, had left her life, hadn't even contacted her for birthdays or Christmas, that she used to spend alone with Jaime, and that now she spends alone, alone, like her whole life, alone.

She doesn't have to answer to him anymore, he doesn't care, he probably doesn't even consider her as his daughter anymore, besides, what does it matter to her, knowing that she's sick, no, worse, dying, what does it matter to her to know that she's going to die? It's not the end of the world...

She raises her hand, gets ready to knock on the oak door, holds back at the last moment, there is still time, time to go back, not to go back into her father's life, not to tell him, not to tell him anything, to let it go and let him find out by a phone call from the morgue or the hospital when it's over, when it's all over, when he can strike it out of his will for good, if he hasn't already done so.

But her fingers come into contact with the wood, that's it, it's done, it's too late, it's too late, she's going to tell him, she's going to tell him, she's going to tell him, she's going to tell him everything, she's going to go home, she's going to go see him, she's going to tell him that it's over, she's leaving, she's leaving, and she's not coming back, ever. She's going to tell him that she's going to die, and then, anyway, it's better that way.

* * *

"No.''

Cersei looks her father in the eye, it's emerald against emerald, she doesn't understand, no, he gave an answer when she didn't ask a question, she just said, yes, she told him, she said she was going to die, she was going to die and there was nothing we could do about it, and he looked at her, and said no, as if that could, as if he, the great Tywin Lannister, as if the great Tywin Lannister, could stop death.

No one can stop death, and that is something Cersei learned the hard way five years ago.

''I don't remember asking you any questions.''

He looks at her, it's hard, she looks so much like her mother and her brother at the same time that it hurts, it hurts to look at her, to look at her and to see Joanna and Jaime, who are no longer there, to see her, and to hear her, too, say she's leaving, she's leaving and she's not coming back, she's never coming back.

''I heard what you told me. You are sick, and the incompetent doctor at the hospital told you you were going to die. But we're going to find you a better doctor, and he's going to fix you. We'll keep looking until we find a cure. You can't die. You're still a Lannister, even though I wish you were, and your children will take over the family business after I'm gone. ''

Cersei looks at him, she feels the tears coming up in his eyes, she knew, of course she knew, she knew that her father no longer wanted her, hadn't considered her his daughter for a long time, but still, still, it hurts to hear it, it always hurts to hear it.

Lost in her thoughts, she doesn't listen to what her father says to her.

She looks out of the windows, the windows of her father's office look directly out onto the beach and the sea, where she spent her childhood playing, running and laughing with Jaime, and sometimes with Tyrion, when Jaime managed to convince her to let him play with them.

She comes to her senses, gets up from where she was sitting, in front of her father's desk, in front, and he behind, as if he was receiving a client rather than his own daughter, now dominates him, he is forced to look up at her, she puts both palms on the desk, leans on it, without taking her eyes off her father, it's still emerald against emerald, except that her father's are cold, let no emotion show through, as if Tywin Lannister never felt anything, maybe he does, after all, maybe he does have a heart of stone, since he is not even able to care for his daughter as she is about to die.

''I'm not sick, I'm dying. There's nothing we can do about it, it's no longer possible, it's too late. But I've gotten used to the idea, so I'm sure you'll get used to it, too. Anyway, it's not like you have a choice.''

She takes her jacket, her bag, turns around, and leaves, leaves, without looking back.

* * *

_I'm not sick, I'm dying..._

Tyrion is waiting outside the door of his father's office, he needs to talk to him, but he thought he was on the phone, with some client, or maybe with his brother, Kevan.

That was before he recognized the other voice, the voice of someone who was in the office and whom he hadn't seen in five years.

Five years.

It had been five years since he had seen his sister Cersei, he hadn't had any news from her since their brother's funeral, hadn't heard from her either.

After all, they can't stand each other, they hate each other, they hate each other, yes. They've always hated each other, as far as Tyrion remembers, it goes back, very far, to his birth, in fact, when their mother died giving birth to him, Cersei could never forgive him for that, or ever wanted to, no matter how deep down inside, the result is the same, they hate each other.

Sometimes we are born into a family, into people we don't understand that they are close to us or connected by blood.

This is what Tyrion has felt since birth, to have landed here, with a father who doesn't appreciate him very much, if at all, and his sister even less.

Before, there was Jaime, his older brother, who he was close to, they got along well, they had a good time together, and Jaime sometimes managed to convince Cersei to accept Tyrion, but she did so reluctantly, it is to please Jaime, she seemed to say when she looked at him with her two beautiful green eyes, so similar to Jaime's, but which showed only coldness, indifference, contempt, while Jaime's eyes looked at him with warmth.

But then Jaime was dead, and now that he was no longer there, there was no reason for them to continue to see each other, to talk to each other, they didn't like each other, they didn't speak to each other, never again, not even on the day of the funeral, they stayed carefully apart from each other, and that continued afterwards.

And Cersei comes back.

She reappears once in her life, in their lives, to him and to her father, just once, to say that she is leaving, that she is leaving and that she will not come back, not again, not ever.

_I'm not sick, I'm dying..._

But she hates him, he hates her, so it's not the end of the world.

It's not the end of the world...

So, if it's not the end of the world, why does Tyrion feel uncomfortable knowing that? What is the feeling, that gnaws at him from the inside, at the thought that his sister, the last one he has left and the only one he ever had, or perhaps ever had, is going to die?

There he is, standing in the corridor, in front of the door, while his sister is in the office, announcing her death to their father.

And, this idea makes him sad, sad, yes, sad to know that she's going to die, it's astonishing, isn't it, normally, when people you hate die, you're not happy, no, you shouldn't rejoice at the death or the unhappiness of others, but you're relieved, Yes, that's it, relieved, we tell ourselves that it's over, that we're rid of it, and then well, it's better like that, but certainly not sad, we're not sad to learn the death of the people we hate, so why is Tyrion sad to know that Cersei is going to die?

Maybe he doesn't hate her, after all...

He can still remember a time when he dreamed that she would want to play with him, without Jaime being there to make her do it, when the three of them would be together, inseparable, that they would love each other, and nothing would ever change that.

He had dreamed about it for many years, and maybe deep down that dream never really faded, dissipated, maybe it's still there, buried deep inside him, buried by years of bitterness and animosity.

He still thinks about it from time to time, and sometimes he finds himself hoping, yes, hoping, because hope is what keeps us alive, even if his father has never stopped telling him that it was useless since his earliest childhood, he hopes, he hopes that one day things will get better between him and Cersei.

But if she is really dying, she probably doesn't have much time left, not enough... Maybe it's already too late...

Lost in his reflections, he doesn't hear the voices rising a little in his father's office, nor does he hear the conversation stop, and is surprised by the sound of the door opening on the fly.

Her sister comes out of it, something in her has changed, she is still as beautiful as before, of course, you don't go from real beauty to ugly, even in five years, but something is missing, Tyrion sees it, feels it, the little spark, the flame of life in her green eyes, the little sparkle, she seems downcast, almost as if she were already dead, and Tyrion wonders if she's been like this since Jaime's death, a question he will probably never have an answer to, for that, you would have had to be there, you would have had to make the effort, and it wasn't the case.

He shouldn't talk to her, just let her go, they can't talk to each other, not like two adults, every time it degenerates, it degenerates like when they were kids, they can't get drunk, the weight of years of bickering, arguments and aversion, of antipathy still weighing on them, they drag him like a prisoner drags his chains, and will probably drag him for the rest of their lives.

Except that, before he could even stop it, his voice comes out, the words cross the barrier of his lips, and it's out, it's said, it's out:

''So it's true ?''

She's already in the corridor, turns her back on him, she stops, but doesn't even bother to turn around, just a little head to look at him out of the corner of her eye, she doesn't want to face what's left of her family, coming to see her father has already taken an enormous effort, and she just wants to leave and never see them again.

When he thinks that she's not going to answer him, that she's just going to ignore him, as she always did when she wasn't fighting with him, she spits it out:

''What do you care?''

Her voice is accusatory, he can hear her, he knows, he knows that deep down, even though she will certainly never admit it, and maybe not even to herself either, she is angry with him, angry with him for not having called her after the accident, never, for not having tried to contact her again when they could have grieved together, if only they could have gotten over their mutual dislike.

And, before he had a chance to answer, she leaves, she goes back, she sinks into the darkness of the corridor, towards the entrance, towards the door, she returns to her life, and leaves the life of Tyrion and their father, she leaves again, and will surely never come back.

* * *

When she gets back in her car, Cersei slumps down on the seat, that's it, that's it, a painful thing done, she doesn't need to come back, she doesn't need to see them again, she just has to go back and never see them again, she just has to go back and die in peace.

She looks one last time at the mansion, at the beach, which she can slightly see, where the moon witnessed the first kiss between Jaime and her, at the high windows of her room, where they have been united so many times, where they have been one, in every possible way, where they have felt whole, as if they were always destined to do that, which they certainly were.

She sighs with nostalgia, obsessed in her contemplations, she misses Jaime, of course she misses him, not a day goes by without her thinking about him, looking at photos that date, now, but she can't, can't stop his voice from gradually escaping his memory, his smell, too, so, even though she kept all his things, it doesn't matter, and it saddens him even more, because deep down, it's as if he would die a second time, as if she would kill him, even involuntarily.

Feeling silent tears beginning to run down her cheeks, Cersei starts her car, and drives off, leaving Casterly Rock and her childhood, her family and her bittersweet memories behind her, for the last time surely.

For the last time...

* * *

In the evening, Cersei is in her house in Lannisport, alone, as usual, it is the house she had bought with Jaime, but, like everything else, she couldn't bring herself to part with it, it was too difficult, much too difficult, she couldn't sell the house, she couldn't throw away her clothes and her things, she couldn't make a definitive cross on this life she had dreamed so much about, and which had almost become reality. But that was before.

Before the truck and its driver, before the accident, before death, before the funeral.

Before the loneliness.

Her phone, placed on the table, starts to vibrate.

When she picks it up, to see the identity of the person calling her at such an hour, when the only calls she usually gets are business calls, and it's never in the evening that customers call, she realizes that it's a number she doesn't know.

Usually she doesn't answer these types of calls, the only people she is interested in, or at least for whom she is willing to take the trouble to answer, are recorded in her contacts.

But there, she doesn't know what's gotten into her, loneliness, perhaps, she answers, but she quickly regrets it, at the moment when she hears her brother's voice, the bad one, unfortunately, while she was still thinking about her twin, for a change.

''Good evening Cersei''.

"Good evening.''

She doesn't know why he's calling her, it's been five years, five years, they haven't spoken to each other, why should they start again, it's absurd, totally absurd, they have absolutely nothing to say to each other, she thought she was just going to go there to tell them that she was going to die, and then it would be over, finished, they were never going to speak to each other again, they were going to go on with their lives and she was going to die, and it would be fine like that.

She quickly got an answer to her questions, when her brother took the floor again, in a hesitant voice, as if he was choosing his words carefully:

''I wanted to know if you'd like to have coffee with me tomorrow afternoon ?''

She doesn't know why she agrees, perhaps to break the monotony of everyday life, not to be alone, but she accepts.

''Yes, if you want...''

There follows a long awkward silence, they don't know what to say to each other, it's hard to talk to each other after five years of silence, you can't just start all over again, it's not as easy, unfortunately, it's much more complex, so they don't say anything, and, deep down, it's perhaps even more awkward, more awkward.

They end up hanging up, after almost two minutes of silence, they say to each other, yes, that's it, see you tomorrow, and they can't help but think that the next day will probably be even more embarrassing than their phone conversation, that they'll have even less to say to each other once they're face-to-face if they don't get off the line first.

* * *

The next day, at the appointed time, they meet in a nice little café, overlooking the beach and the sea.

Tyrion is already there when Cersei arrives, she sees him, approaches him, greets him, comes to sit at his table, then says nothing more, just looks at her hands, Tyrion doesn't say anything either, he doesn't know what to say, they don't know what to say to each other, five years is definitely too long.

He looks at his sister, and sees, as he did the day before, that something has changed, that she has changed, that she is no longer the same.

In the end, even though death takes only one person, one person only, it steals many more lives than that one person.

They stand there, not saying anything to each other, maybe two, five, ten, fifteen minutes, before Tyrion takes the lead and decides to break the ice:

''So, when did you find out?''

He wants to slap his face, he hasn't seen his sister in years, he's trying to bond with her a little more, and the first thing he thinks of to say, when he could have been talking about trivialities, the weather, politics, work, anything, is to ask her when she found out she was going to die.

Cersei looks at him, frowns, she has understood, of course she has understood, she just doesn't want her pity, pity, she's fed up, the doctors are filling her up when she doesn't want pity, not from them, not from anyone, she doesn't want anyone's pity, she's happy to die, she's going to see Jaime again soon, why should she be unhappy.

''Two months ago.''

She no longer looks at him, avoids his gaze, even turns her ring around her left ring finger, Tyrion recognizes the jewel, he knows that it was Jaime who gave it to her, a beautiful gold ring, and set with emeralds, he is not surprised to see it still in Cersei's hand, he remembers that her brother had told him that she had promised never to take it off, and, obviously, she did.

''Two months...''

He repeats, as if he wasn't sure he heard right, hoping to make a mistake, it can't be, it can't be, it can't be two months since Cersei knows she's going to die and she didn't come to tell them earlier, right? _Didn't she?_

''You've known for two months, and you haven't told us anything...''

Cersei looks at him again, her eyebrows still frowning:

''Why would I say anything to you? We haven't called each other, seen each other or spoken since...''.

She can't say the word, it won't come out of her mouth, gets stuck in her throat, maybe because saying it would hurt too much, much too much, it would bring back painful memories, much too painful, so she stops her sentence, and starts again in another way.

''We've lost touch. We haven't been part of the same family for five years. I don't see how my death would have interested you.''

Tyrion wants to scream that if they are part of the same family, that they don't have a choice anyway, and it's true, they don't have a choice, you don't choose your family, and they know that all too well, because if they could have chosen, they would have certainly chosen another one.

But they're Lannisters, both of them, that's how it is, they don't have a choice, so you have to make do with it, that's what Tyrion wants to tell him, to shout at him, but instead, something else comes out:

''You've known for two months that you're going to die, and you didn't tell us...''.

Cersei is stung, Tyrion's irritated tone angers her, and she can't help but reply, annoyed :

''No, I didn't tell you until yesterday, and I would have been better off not to, if I had known it would lead to this. After all, I'm an adult, I don't have to answer to anyone, especially not to Father, and especially not to you''.

This time it's too much, Tyrion raises his voice, in spite of himself, he's not really angry with Cersei, you can't really be angry with a sick, dying person, but rather with himself, for not having called her earlier, for not having come to talk to her at the funeral, for having left her totally alone for five years. And yet, it is still against Cersei that he shouts:

''Fuck Cersei! You've known for two months that you're going to die, and you haven't told us anything! Do you want to die alone or what ?!''

Cersei doesn't even answer his question, takes her bag, gets up, turns her heels as quickly as possible, but Tyrion still has time to see an imperceptible burst of pain go through her green eyes, he has touched a sore spot, visibly, he shouldn't have told her that, he already regrets it, but what's done is done and what's said is said, we can't go back, we can only apologize and hope to be forgiven.

So he gets up, and runs after her, slaloming between passers-by walking on the sidewalk, desperately trying to catch up with her in the middle of the crowd, I'm sorry, Cersei, I shouldn't have said that, I'm really sorry, excuse me.

Cersei walks as fast as she can, zigzagging between the people walking, feels the tears coming up in her eyes, but she holds them back, she doesn't want to cry, not yet, and then, she hates her brother, so how can her opinion affect her, affect her, since she hates him?

She hates him, doesn't she? _Doesn't she?_

She feels that someone is grabbing her by the arm, Tyrion stops her, he has strength, in spite of his small size, more than she does, in any case, he forces her to turn around, looks her in the eyes, it's emerald against emerald, again, and asks her point-blank :

''What's the date of your next doctor's appointment ?''

She looks at him for a moment, they are the only two stopped in the middle of the crowd, chaotic, agitated, it is almost poetic, it would almost deserve to be painted, photographed, she is about to tell him, then she resigns herself, releases her arm from her iron fist, turns around, and goes away, disappears among the multitude of pedestrians.

Tyrion stands there like an idiot, he feels like an idiot, far too stupid, after all, what took him to believe, to have the hope that between Cersei and him, things could work out, things could work out?

So, he turns around, distraught, goes back to his car, to return to Casterly Rock, alone.

But hope comes back when his phone vibrates, late at night.

A message.

A very short message.

_Next Friday. 3 PM. Lannisport Hospital._

He allows himself a little smile. Maybe in the end, all hope is not lost.

* * *

On Friday morning, Tyrion calls Cersei again. He wants to know if he can come with her to the medical appointment and, if so, where and how they will meet in the afternoon.

He feels a slight wave of apprehension rising inside him, after all, he hasn't seen her since he yelled at her, when it was at himself he would have wanted to yell, scream.

She answers after several minutes, just when Tyrion thinks he's going to get her answering machine, that she's going to ignore him, and she would have every right to do so, she was right, she doesn't have to answer to him, especially since she hates him and he hasn't even tried to find out how she is since Jaime's death.

But, since she had agreed to come for coffee with him, and had given him the time of her appointment, she must not have hated him, or at least, not totally .

''Hello ?''

''Yes, Cersei, it's me...''

''I know, I recognized your voice. What's up ?''

He takes a deep breath, crosses his fingers so that she says yes, hopes, hopes so hard that you can hear it in the voice he's using:

''I wanted to ask you... Would it be okay if I came with you to the meeting this afternoon ?''

Silence.

This goes on for a while, so much so that Tyrion thinks she's hung up and he's waiting there like an idiot, in the void, with his hopes and dreams, almost like a child, finally.

But his sister's voice breaks the silence, and proves to him that she is still there, at the end of the line, listening to him :

''If you want.''

Tyrion smiles, he can't believe his ears, he was sure that she was going to say no, that she was going to refuse, no, don't come, I don't want you near me, now he's sure, she doesn't hate him, otherwise she would never have accepted, and, he doesn't know why, but this prospect transports him.

''Great... All right, I'm glad you accept... Where do you want to meet?''

''I don't know, wherever you want...''

He hears the weariness, in his sister's voice, he feels guilty, his enthusiasm falls back, he no longer really thought about the fact that his sister was only going there to hear himself say how much time he had left to spend here, in this world, how long before she dies out for good.

''Do you want me to take you?''

He doesn't know why he's offering it to her, it's going to be another open door to awkward silences, or an umpteenth argument, all those things he'd like to avoid.

''Yes, I'd like that.''

''It works. I'll pick you up at 2:00, then. I'll see you then.''

"See you then.''

And they hang up.

* * *

Tyrion arrives in front of Cersei's house, he can't say that he is surprised to see that she kept the house she had bought with Jaime, when they still thought that everything would be fine, but that, life had taken care of them, or death, rather.

He doesn't get out of his car right away, waits a little, hesitates before getting out, he doesn't want to go back into the house, to feel Jaime's presence around him, it would hurt him, too much, he thinks of Cersei, who lives in the middle of this, this atmosphere, who lives surrounded, surrounded by death, literally.

He has no time to ask himself more questions, the door opens, Cersei appears on the stoop, she locks the door behind her, and then she comes towards him.

He unlocks his car to let her in, she greets him, without really looking at him, she looks down, twists her hands, and Tyrion wonders how he would feel if he went somewhere to be told how much time he has left, knowing full well that he is doomed.

He realizes that Cersei lives every day, as if it were perhaps the last, the last day of a condemned woman.

She doesn't say anything, so he doesn't say anything either.

The journey takes place in total silence, they don't dare to say anything to each other, they have nothing to say to each other, what are we supposed to say to each other, after five years of separation and a quarrel?

They arrive at the hospital, and Tyrion can't help but notice that, exactly as he remembers, he still hates this place so much.

* * *

The doctor starts talking to them about things they don't understand a word of, and this quickly gets Cersei angry, cutting him off in the middle of a sentence about experimental treatments and her test results:

''Okay, it will be fine, thank you. Now, stop beating around the bush and tell me frankly what I came to know: how much time do I have left ?''

The doctor stops, it is not usual for a patient to ask for things to be told to him so directly, but this patient is not usual, he has noticed it since the first time she walked through the door of this office, not once has he seen her react, not once, even when he told her that she was going to die, and she had always come alone, always, except this time, when a man accompanied her.

He doesn't say anything, he doesn't say anything either, he listens, he's her brother, she told him when she entered, but she had never mentioned it before.

''A few months, maybe, if you're lucky... But if I'm totally honest with you, it's unlikely that you'll live to see the New Year''.

Cersei nods, agrees, okay, anyway, she can't disagree, she doesn't have a choice, that's the way it is, in the face of death, you rarely have a choice.

The doctor keeps staring at her intensely, waiting for a reaction, any reaction, but it is in vain, he knows it, he could tell her that she would die in just a few minutes and she wouldn't blink.

''If you wish, our palliative care unit...''.

She cuts him off, doesn't want to know more, doesn't even want to continue listening to what he has to say to her, she's willing to wait for death, but she won't wait for death in a hospital bed, certainly not, it's totally out of the question.

''No. We've already talked about this, and I've already given you my point of view on this. Now, if that's all for today...''

Without even taking the time to finish her sentence, Cersei grabs her things, starts to get up from her chair, and, as she is leaving, the doctor apostrophizes her :

''Wait, Madam. There's something I forgot to tell you about at our previous appointment.''

She turns around, stands there, stoic, go ahead, I'm listening, but hurry up, I don't have all day.

''We have noticed that you don't have anyone you can trust. The person in your file is Mr. Jaime Lannister, your brother, who, according to our information, died a ...''.

She retorts a little curtly:

''I know perfectly well when my twin brother died. I was with him. As for the person I trust, I'm sorry, but I don't have anyone.''

As she turns her heels again, Tyrion, who hadn't opened his mouth since the interview with the doctor began, just absorbing the information and really getting a sense of the reality of things, which most of them didn't know a week before, speaks up.

''Wait, Cersei...''

She turns around again, her hand on the door handle this time, she's fed up, it's obvious, she has only one desire, only one hurry, it's to leave this room, to leave this hospital, and to go home alone, as usual.

She frowns but says nothing, showing that she listens to him, inviting him to continue.

''I can be your trustworthy person... Well, if you want...''.

Cersei shrugs her shoulders, looking indifferent:

''If it'll amuse you, to play the babysitter...''

Tyrion smiles inwardly, he can't help it, it's a great victory for him, Cersei didn't refuse, just as she didn't refuse to go for coffee with him a few days before, and just as she didn't refuse that he accompanies her that day, with her, to the hospital.

All this only gives her more hope for the future.

So he gives his contact details to the doctor, shakes her hand, goodbye, and then leaves to follow Cersei, who has already been out for a little while.

* * *

He finds her in the hospital parking lot, leaning on her car, as if she were waiting for him. Anyway, she has no choice, he has the keys.

Once in the car, silence settles in between them, the same embarrassing, awkward silence, as at the café the other day or on the way there just two hours before.

Cersei opens the window, leans over to her bag on the floor, grabs a cigarette, lights it, and, leaning against the door, starts smoking.

Tyrion looks at her for long seconds, hesitating to make a comment to her that it's not good for her health, and then, finally, goes for it :

''This can't be good for you.''

She looks at him with the cigarette between her index and middle fingers, probably waiting for the sermon to continue.

Once again, Tyrion thinks that he shouldn't have said anything, that he has just opened the door to countless other arguments, but that doesn't stop him from continuing:

''You know, for your health... I mean, it's not good to smoke...''

Cersei continues to stare at him, before emitting a sound between sighing and laughing without joy:

''What does it matter? Anyway, I'm going to die sooner or later, so I might as well enjoy it as much as I can. ''

He looks at her, alternating between her and the road, before sighing, and asking:

''What did it do to you?''

"What ?''

"Knowing you were going to die.''

''Everybody dies sometime.''

''Okay, but what did it feel like to find out that it was going to happen to you prematurely.''

''Nothing. Absolutely nothing.''

Tyrion looks at her, both astonished that she would answer him, when he had half expected her to blow him off, and astonished at her answer.

"What do you mean, nothing ?''

''I was happy, knowing that I was going to die. I was very happy. That's all I wanted.''

Tyrion could feel the tears coming up in his eyes:

"But why ?''

"Because I should have died a long time ago.''

One tear starts to fall on Cersei's cheek, then two, then three, then on his own, too, because deep down, he knows what she means, he knows what she's going to say.

''I should have died with Jaime in the accident. We always promised each other. Always. Ever since we were kids. We should have died together, and in the end, he died alone.''

She pauses for inspiration.

''He died alone, and I felt so bad... Nothing was, nothing is the same anymore, without him... I had, I feel like a part of me was taken away...''.

She is really crying, now the tears are streaming down her face, real rivers, as if she has been holding them back for a long time, for far too long.

''So I thought, if I die, at least I'll be with him. That I wouldn't be alone anymore, never again. That I would be whole again. That's all I had left to hold on to. I tried several times to kill myself, it never worked.''

Tyrion stops at the side of the road, there's no one there anyway, tears sting his eyes, too, and then end up flowing freely.

He hugs her, and she lets him, but keeps sobbing, and the only thing he can discern between her tears is :

"I miss him, Tyrion... I miss him so much...''

And she gives him back his embrace, for the very first time in her life, there, in the car, stopped at the side of the road, burying her face in the hollow of his neck, as she has done so many times before with her brother, her other brother, while he caresses her with his long golden curls.

* * *

A few days later, Tyrion is sitting at the same table, at the same coffee shop, as he had sat down with Cersei a little more than a week earlier.

He is waiting for her, once again. He thinks back to how the drive home from the hospital went, to their conversation, to how Cersei finally let it all blow up, everything, everything she had been holding back for years, and that she had probably never said.

After their hug (the first one, the first one where he hugged her and she hugged him back!), they had disengaged from each other's arms, both had dried their tears, and Tyrion had restarted the car.

When they arrived in front of Cersei's house, she offered him a sad smile, and even thanked him, she didn't say why, for having taken her, for having accompanied her, or for having cried with her, and, when he again offered her to have a coffee with him, just to start again on a good basis.

He had been surprised to see her accept, even with what sounded like a hint of enthusiasm in her voice, a slight glow in her emerald green irises, like hope.

And hope, Tyrion had hope too.

Well, until now.

Cersei should have been here ten minutes ago, almost fifteen, and yet she still hasn't arrived.

At first, Tyrion blamed this little delay on traffic jams, on a misleading sense of time, in short, one of the little annoyances of everyday life.

But he's seriously starting to wonder if she hasn't stood him up.

He hopes not. He had so hoped that things could finally work out between him and Cersei, that things could get better, that they could finally become the siblings they never really were, but if it turned out that Cersei had just played a bad trick on him, he's not sure he would recover.

He shakes his head, refuses to think about it, hopes, still hopes, that Cersei will appear around the corner, apologize for being late, sit down with him, and they will be able to talk.

He looks at his phone, to see if he has any response to the countless messages he has sent him and the calls he has made to him in vain, but to no avail.

But seconds and minutes go by, and Cersei doesn't come.

He finally gets up, disappointed, takes his things and leaves the café.

* * *

At the wheel of his car, he sighs.

He had believed so much that after losing a brother, he could finally have a sister that it hurts him, very badly, it hurts him deep inside, because Cersei has just broken the last dream he had left, the last, the last fragment of his childhood hopes.

As he was about to take the road back to Casterly Rock, carrying the full weight of his disillusionment on his shoulders, he jerks off and, on a sudden impulse, takes the path towards Cersei's house.

That she doesn't want to see him is one thing, but she had better have a good explanation for his absence.

He finally arrives, after minutes that seem like an eternity, and leaves his car in a hurry.

Cersei's car is parked on the sidewalk. She is therefore at home.

Almost running, Tyrion arrives on the porch, and, with an angry movement, opens the front door.

All is calm in the house.

The light is not even on, even though it is already rather dark outside, and there is not a trace, not a sign of his sister's presence.

He frowns, astonished. If Cersei's car is there when everything seems to prove otherwise, there must be something wrong.

He feels all the rage, all the anger that he had built up deep down to fall on her.

There is no one in the living room, nor in the kitchen or dining room.

He goes upstairs and starts to inspect the bathroom when he sees a door ajar.

Jaime and Cersei's bedroom.

He gently opens the half-open door, totally unsure of what he will find behind it.

In spite of the darkness, he manages to discern the furniture, and lies down in the bed...

Cersei.

At first glance, she seems to be asleep, but Tyrion, by approaching her a little closer on tiptoe, realizes that this is not the case.

When he reaches her, she flutters her eyelids, opens her eyes, and mumbles her name in a sleepy voice:

"Tyrion ?''

''Yes, it's me. What are you still doing in bed at this hour?

She frowns:

"Why, is it late?"

"It's half past 5:00''

She stands up suddenly, looking completely lost, and she comes to her senses:

"Oh, shit... I missed our date, didn't I?''

He nods, and looks her in the eye. She looks really sorry for missing the time, and he feels worse and worse for thinking she did it intentionally.

''I've sent you several messages, and I've called you, too, several times, but you haven't responded to either of them''.

He doesn't add anything, but she feels that, even if he doesn't ask for them, he is waiting for her justification.

''I'm really sorry... I wasn't feeling well this morning, so I didn't get up... And because I left my cell phone in my office yesterday, I couldn't see your calls or messages...''.

He nods silently, nods his head, it's nothing, it's not serious, after all, Cersei is sick, he had almost forgotten it, well no, not forgotten, you can't forget such a thing, you can't forget that someone close to you, who is connected to you, in one way or another, is going to die soon. He had put it away in the corner of his head, and he preferred to ignore it, not to think about it.

But he can't forget that, he can't, he can't forget that sooner or later his sister will be taken from him, in the same way that his brother was taken from him.

He is staring at her again. She looks tired, very tired. Black circles mark the skin under her eyes, she is pale, much paler than usual, and has nothing left of the little glow of life that had returned to inhabit her bloom only a few days earlier.

That's when he realizes her suffering, her true suffering, both physical and psychological, but he can't tell if it's because of the disease eating her up from the inside, like a poison, or if it's loneliness, which has the same effect.

"Are you feeling better?''

She looks at him too, grinning:

''Not really, no... But it will pass.''

He nods again.

She continues to observe him:

"You want to go anyway ?''

''No, if you don't feel well, it's not worth it. We'll go some other time, like next week.''

But suddenly a horrible thought comes into his head.

_What if there isn't a next time?_

He looks at Cersei again, who hasn't yet made the slightest movement to stand up, and, in a hesitant voice, still fearing the rejection, the permanent rejection that she had addressed to him since childhood, asks him :

"Can I lie down with you?''

She looks at him with astonishment, she did not expect this.

"Yes, if you want.''

Tyrion smiles, again, again, it feels good to smile.

He takes off his shoes and jacket and climbs on the bed next to Cersei.

Seconds, minutes, hours, perhaps, pass.

At the moment when, convinced that Cersei is asleep, he is about to fall asleep, he hears her whisper:

''Tyrion?''

He mumbles, I am listening, he would like to say, but, drowsy, the words refuse to pass the barrier of his lips.

She takes a deep breath:

"I don't blame you for Mom's death.''

He widens his eyes, wide awake, all of a sudden, as if he had just taken a basin of cold water in his sleep, except that it is a heat, an intense heat that he feels throughout his body, as if a huge blaze had just ignited inside him, fueled by the flame of hope and by the flame he had felt only for Jaime. The flame of love, brotherly love.

But as he is about to ask her to repeat what she has just said, he realizes that she has fallen asleep.

But it doesn't matter. He's sure he heard her right.

Then, with a big smile on his face, he falls asleep in his turn.

* * *

From now on, Tyrion spends all his time with Cersei.

Things are still a bit difficult, at the beginning, stormy, they have to heal the wounds they inflicted on each other, the traces left by all their quarrels.

But never mind, they spend all their time together, they discover common passions that they didn't even know they shared.

They spend hours reading by the fire in Cersei's house, while the freezing cold of November reigns outside, the frost covers the windows of houses, stores, cars, so opaque that you can't even see through.

They don't talk, during those moments, but it doesn't matter, they don't need it, they just enjoy each other's presence, and that's fine.

They spend whole afternoons playing chess together, watching the snow fall in scattered flakes through the window, until it gets late and Tyrion has to go home, to let Cersei rest and not get stuck by the weather.

Cersei feels sad, about all this, she regrets, she regrets not calling Tyrion after the funeral, she regrets choosing to hate him rather than try to love him, which turns out to be much easier than she thought, when Jaime had asked so much of her, she regrets, because at the moment when she only begins to enjoy the presence of her little brother, to no longer see him as a parasite, as a monster, to appreciate the time spent with him, it is also at that moment that she realizes that the time she has left to spend with him is counted.

And even if she doesn't complain, even if she doesn't say it, she realizes that this is the first time in her life that she doesn't want to die, that maybe she would rather live, instead, live for him, live for the new love that she feels, different from the one she had for Jaime, but makes that when she goes to bed at night, she wants to wake up, which gives her the strength to get up every morning, and the desire to stay, to live, to live for him.

They don't think about it, about that fire that consumes her, that poison that gnaws at her, that corrodes her, when they are together, no, they prefer to savor every minute as if it were the last (which could perhaps be the case).

But when Tyrion gets back in his car, night after night, he is afraid, afraid to receive a call from the hospital, telling him that his sister's condition has deteriorated, or worse, that she has died, that's what happens in his worst nightmares, at night he wakes up in a sweat, alone, in his bed in Casterly Rock, plunged in the dark, he checks his phone tirelessly, sees that there is nothing, then goes back to sleep, and it starts all over again.

Sometimes he calls Cersei, just to hear her voice, to be sure that she is still there, that she hasn't left, not yet, since it's only a matter of time, but not yet, he is relieved when he hears her mumbling, grumbling for having woken her up at such an hour, but he doesn't care, if she grumbles, it's because she is still there. She is still there.

In his wildest dreams, he accompanies Cersei to see the doctor, and he imagines that he tells them that this is it, that there is a treatment, a miracle cure, that everything is going to be all right, that Cersei is going to be cured, that she is no longer condemned to die.

Unfortunately, miracles do not exist, and illusions are not made to last.

Every time he and Cersei go to the hospital, since he accompanies her to every appointment, from now on, the doctor continues to show his compassionate face, then announces that the results are not good, as was to be expected, and that he has little time left, little time to live, little time to love, little time to enjoy.

It is at these moments that Tyrion realizes how unfair life is.

The doctor who looks at both of them in a conciliatory manner must be in his sixties, and he appears to be in good health, while his sister, barely thirty years old, is condemned to die.

Yes, life is unfair, and Cersei and Tyrion, despite their young age, have already experienced too much of it.

* * *

One day, as December and Christmas are getting closer and closer, Tyrion cannot go to Cersei because of the snowstorm raging outside.

He decides to do a little tidying up and sorting in his room and, by chance, comes across a postcard that he doesn't even remember keeping.

It was a postcard from Pentos, five years ago, that Jaime had sent him when he had gone on vacation with Cersei there, just a few months before his accident.

He remembers that the twins had always loved to travel, and that they would have liked to see more foreign countries, but that was before, before the accident, and he never brought this up with Cersei, no need to reopen wounds that may have already closed, that may have already healed.

An idea is then born in Tyrion's mind, that's it, he knows, he knows what he's going to do with Cersei, which is going to allow them to spend all their time together, and to make a real break with the chaos that has come to disrupt their lives.

He puts the postcard, clearly visible, on his bedside table, and stops cleaning up.

He has calls to make.

* * *

A few days later, the snowstorm calmed down, it can circulate again.

He goes directly to Cersei.

He didn't tell him that he was coming, so when Cersei opens and sees him on her doorstep, while she is still in pyjama shorts and a tank top, she smiles, surprised, but happy to see him, even though she hasn't heard from him for a few days already.

They sit down in front of the fireplace, where the fire purrs softly, almost like a cat, and, without saying another word, Tyrion hands Cersei an envelope.

She looks at him, then wraps it in her hands, she frowns, she doesn't understand, why is he giving her this?

He looks at her with a smile on his face, and says:

''Consider this your early Christmas present.''

She giggles:

"Very early, then.''

She opens it and sees what's inside.

Every trace of a smile fades from her face, she no longer laughs, her features have darkened, sagging, all of a sudden.

She takes out the two plane tickets, finally understanding, but still says nothing.

A tear runs down her cheek.

Tyrion suddenly begins to panic, what if he had made a goof? After all, the last time she went to Pentos, Jaime was still there, Jaime was with her, Jaime was alive and well, but that's not the case anymore.

He would understand very well that she doesn't want to go back, that she doesn't want to leave anymore, to travel.

Several tears flowed down her face, now, silent, she said nothing then, Tyrion didn't dare to say anything either.

But as he opens his mouth, ready to apologize, I'm sorry Cersei, it wasn't a good idea, really, I don't know what came over me, she smiles through her tears, and suddenly, she hugs him.

She cries, but they are tears of joy, so Tyrion cries too, and hugs him.

* * *

A few days later, when they meet at the airport, Tyrion can't help but notice the smile that illuminates his sister's fine, beautiful features, which he had never really seen before.

It's when she smiles at him that he understands what Jaime might have found in her, even though he thought she was just bitter from all those years.

Before getting on the plane, Tyrion makes her promise to tell him right away if she doesn't feel well, or if she gets bad news, so they can go home right away.

Cersei nods, but yes, I promise, don't worry, I'll tell you right away, and keep smiling at her.

As they sit in their seats in first class, Tyrion can't help but notice that, if it wasn't for this fucking disease, everything would have been almost perfect.

* * *

Their vacations are heavenly.

They spend their time sipping cocktails on the beach, reading books, or strolling around Pentos, which is a pretty town with its small cobbled streets and colorful buildings.

Cersei thinks about the streets she has walked with Jaime, but smiles. These are good memories, her best ones, in fact, and now, thanks to her little brother, it is almost as if she is reliving them.

Tyrion, for his part, regrets, of course, from time to time, that he didn't take the first step sooner.

They talk about it, one evening, as they sit on the beach, looking at the immensity of the starry sky that unfolds above their heads and is reflected in the water of the sea, whose waves come to run aground, full of foam, on the fine sand, or break against the rocks of the shore, a bit like in Castral Roc.

Tyrion apologizes to Cersei for not coming to talk to him at Jaime's funeral, something that weighs on him every day, for not trying to contact her again, for yelling at her at their first coffee date.

Cersei asks Tyrion's forgiveness, with tears in her eyes, for having been so obnoxious, so obnoxious with him throughout their childhood, when he had done nothing to her, when he wasn't, couldn't be responsible for their mother's death, for not having called him either, mourning would perhaps have been easier for both of them, and the less difficult solitude, of course, is also something that weighs on her.

They end up hugging each other again, intertwining their tears, something that has become commonplace for them, and then shut up, just standing there, silent, staring at the ink sky and the silver moon, crossing their fingers so that each star in the immensity that overlooks them is one more day of life granted to Cersei, one more day of life granted to both of them.

_(Unfortunately, this is rarely the way things are done, and they know it all too well)._

* * *

One morning, when Tyrion is already out on the beach, Cersei looks at her phone, and sees that she has several missed calls from the hospital, and a voicemail.

When she listens to it, the doctor tells her that they've received her most recent test results from the labs, the last ones she had before she left, and they're not good.

They're really not good.

After that, the only thing she hears is that she only has a few weeks left, if she's lucky, and that she has a hospital appointment as soon as she gets back to Westeros.

She hangs up before the end of the message, and drops down on the bed, sitting down.

She had hoped for more, just a little more, she who had wanted death so badly, and takes her to join her twin.

She feels the tears coming up to his eyes, stinging them, and then running slowly, silently, down his cheek.

She would like not to cry, but she can't take it anymore, she doesn't have the strength to hold herself back, and she doesn't want to let herself go in front of Tyrion, so she might as well not have any more tears to shed.

She doesn't go, she doesn't want to tell her brother.

It would be too hard, to see the sadness in her emeralds, to him too, much too hard, she doesn't want to reduce all her hopes to dust, just a few days before, he asked her if she would spend Christmas with him, and she accepted, and the happiness in her eyes was priceless to those of Cersei.

No, she's not going to tell him anything. It's decided. She can't deprive him of the last of his dreams. She doesn't have the right to do that.

* * *

When Cersei finally joins him, Tyrion looks up from his book and realizes that something is not as usual.

She looks more downcast, more extinguished.

He worries.

''Are you all right?''

''Yes, yes, I'm just a little tired.''

She smiles at him, but deep down, she can't help but apprehend what comes next.

* * *

A few days later they returned to Westeros.

December has arrived.

The decorations have already been installed all over Lannisport, so when night falls, the city is adorned with white, green, red, golden lights.

Scents of gingerbread and mulled wine float in the air, because of the Christmas market that has come to settle in the main square, it smells like a party, it feels good.

When Cersei and Tyrion walk together in the wide crowded streets, Tyrion smiles like a child, he can't hold back, he can't hide his excitement, Christmas is here, he is delighted at the idea of finally spending it with someone other than his father, it will change him, it's been like this for five years, and five years is too long, far too long.

Cersei forces herself to smile, hiding behind the news that gnaws at her, that devours her, she doesn't want to disappoint her little brother, not once more.

He doesn't suspect anything, or, at least, doesn't tell her about it, they don't talk about it, and, when he asks her in the middle of the crowd for the date of her next appointment, a scene that strangely resembles one that happened not even two months before, but which seems so far away to them, so far away, she answers evasively that she doesn't know, that the doctor hasn't called her back, so she has no date to give him.

She blames herself, to lie to her like that, she shouldn't, she knows it well, it's not right, to lie, especially not to people you love, but she can't bring herself to tell her the truth, she will tell her one day, of course, she has no choice, she knows it all too well, but just, not now.

After Christmas, she promises herself.

After all, she's not really lying. She's just hiding the truth, the horrible truth.

So it's not the end of the world, is it?

* * *

In the hospital waiting room, Cersei feels a little lonely.

She has become accustomed to Tyrion's presence by her side, his incessant chatter and his existential and unanswered questions.

But he's not there, so Cersei doesn't talk to anyone, and just watches, observes around her.

A redheaded woman in her forties sits in front of her, she is immersed in a magazine, she doesn't look at her, except for one moment, when she looks up, and sees Cersei staring at her, mute.

She gives her a nice smile, and then addresses her:

''Who are you accompanying? I'm with my father, he's not doing very well, unfortunately.''

Cersei continues to look at her, silent for a long time, before answering:

''I'm not accompanying anyone.''

A flash of compassion comes through the lady's blue eyes, she understands, she smiles even more kindly at him, her voice is soft:

"You have a cancer of what ?''

''Breast cancer.''

''Don't worry, this doctor is one of the best, he has already treated me, and he treats my father, who is getting better and better. I'm sure you'll be fine too. How old are you ?''

"Thirty years old.''

''It is atrocious, to live such a horror so young. I really hope you get better.''

Cersei smiles slightly, it's a fake smile, of course, she can't really smile in her condition, but she also doesn't want to say what's happening to her, the pity of people, she has had it, so she just manages to say softly, with her lips:

''I hope it too.''

And then the doctor calls her.

* * *

In the evening, Cersei hears her phone ringing.

She smiles before she even looks at the caller ID.

She knows exactly who it is.

She picks up the phone.

''Hi little brother.''

''Hi big sister. How you doing?''

''As well as can be expected. I'm just a little tired, that's all.''

''Did you see the oncologist today ? What did he say ?''

''Nothing special.''

She's lying, she's lying, of course she's lying. The doctor made it very clear how much time she had left.

Only a few days, he said.

''Well, that's good news then. I just wanted to get your confirmation that you'll be here for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.''

Only a few days.

But, that's good, Christmas is only a few days away now.

''I'll be there.''

They wish each other a good evening, they'll see each other on Christmas, so they hang up.

Once the call is over, Cersei burst into tears.

* * *

On December 21, Tyrion was at a meeting for the Lannister Corporation, the family business, at the Golden Tooth.

He's fed up, he only wants one thing left, to go home.

These meetings are definitely not for him, in any case, he was not the one who was supposed to inherit the company, and his father made sure he understood that.

He can't take it anymore, he would jump at the slightest excuse, the slightest opportunity to slip away, and plant them all there.

The moment he thinks this, he feels his cell phone vibrating in his pocket.

He smiles. The perfect alibi.

He stands up, while his uncle, Kevan, his father's younger brother, is already standing, still talking.

''Excuse me," he says, "but I have someone calling me, and it may be urgent. But please continue without me.''

Once he's out of the meeting room, in the hallway, he's still smiling.

Whoever it is, this person chose the right time to call him.

However, the joy is short-lived.

His smile fades from his lips as he pulls the phone out of his pocket and sees the hospital number. He becomes livid.

Instinctively, he knows the reason for the call.

He picks up the phone, crosses his fingers that it's not what he thinks it is, but, of course, it's not.

It's a lady calling him, probably a nurse or a receptionist, but she has a cold, stone-cold voice:

''Hello, is this Mr. Tyrion Lannister?''

''Yes, this is me.''

His hands are shaking, his voice is shaking, so much so that he doesn't even recognize it, he feels like a stranger is speaking for him.

Good. It's the Lannisport Hospital Center. We are calling to inform you that your sister, Mrs. Cersei Lannister, has just been admitted to us in critical condition. According to our information, it is likely that she will not make it through the night. I therefore recommend that you come as soon as possible if you wish to be with her''.

And, without adding anything more, she hangs up.

Tyrion is speechless.

_It is likely that she will not make it through the night._

His legs are trembling, they could be made of cotton, he wouldn't know the difference.

_It is likely that she will not make it through the night._

He grabs his car key from his jacket pocket, doesn't even care about his things that have stayed in the room, someone will take them for him when they see that he doesn't come back, or not, Podrick, his assistant, maybe, anyway, it doesn't matter, he doesn't care, he doesn't care about anything else, nothing else matters.

He runs down the stairs to the parking lot, rushes in his car, starts off at top speed, quickly, time is running out, he's going to run out, he's going to arrive too late, it's worse than in his nightmares, even in his nightmares, he was with her, at the moment it happened, but he doesn't want to think otherwise, Cersei is not dead yet, she is fighting, Cersei is a fighter and that's the way it is, it's not too late, it's never too late, that's what he repeats, never, there's still time.

* * *

Traffic jams.

Traffic jams are obstructing all the roads in Port-Lannis, as if people had spread the word to be all in their cars, in the same place at the same time, in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Tyrion gets impatient at the piano on his steering wheel, they have nothing better to do, they're all there, clumped together on the highway, while he, his sister may be dying, and he's stuck there in this mess.

* * *

He finally manages to get out of traffic jams.

It's not too early.

He drives, drives, doesn't even care about speed limits, so much the worse if he gets a fine, he doesn't care, he doesn't care about everything that happens around him, it doesn't matter either, he doesn't give a damn.

He's only a few kilometers away from the hospital.

Suddenly, his phone rings again.

He picks it up.

* * *

When he arrives at the entrance of the hospital, he runs, he runs as if his life depended on it, it's almost the case, after all, no, it's not possible, the nurses, the doctors lied, it can't be, it's impossible, he can't believe it, he doesn't want to believe it.

He rushes to the reception, the lady there doesn't seem to know, when he asks her for the room number, she gives it to him, and with a smile, as if he were in the mood, as if he seemed to be in the mood for it.

Once he has found the right floor, the right hallway, the right room, he remains petrified on the spot.

The door is open, and the only thing he manages to see is doctors, nurses, whatever, is people.

People covering something, someone with a white sheet.

A shroud.

One tear, then two, then three, then torrents, rivers, flow over his cheeks, but he doesn't even realize it.

* * *

After maybe five, ten minutes, a quarter of an hour, half an hour, or maybe five or ten hours, he doesn't know, he's not conscious of time, he doesn't care, in fact, the doctors see him.

They smile at him, with that horrible compassionate grin that he wants to tear from their faces, he wonders if this is what Cersei felt every time they looked at her like that, every time they looked at her while they told her that her deadline was approaching, every time they reminded her that she was going to die.

To die. How ugly that words are.

They get out of bed, they say something to her, by the way, as they go out, but Tyrion doesn't even hear them, doesn't listen to them, he doesn't care, like he doesn't care.

He still doesn't want to believe what he's been told, even though he has the proof right in front of him.

It's when he sees a hand sticking out from underneath the cloth that he really becomes aware of what's going on.

He recognizes her, only because of one thing.

The ring.

The ring on her left ring finger.

The ring that Jaime had given her, made of gold and set with emeralds, to go with her eyes and her hair.

The ring she never took off, under any circumstances.

He reached out his hand, without really knowing where he got this courage, and pulled the shroud, just to see.

As soon as he discovers her face, he bursts into tears.

They didn't even bother to close her eyes.

He just stands there, staring at his sister's corpse, for what could be a fraction of a second or even a millennium.

He can't take his eyes off her, feeling a mixture of guilt, sadness, heartbreak, climbing inside him.

He reaches out his hand again, towards her face this time, to affectionately caress her cheek, to remove the blonde streaks from her face.

Then he closes her eyes.

When he leaves the room, after putting the shroud back in place, the only thing that barely manages to console him is to tell himself that this time at least, Cersei is with Jaime.

* * *

When he gets out of the hospital, nothing has changed.

People are running, doing their last minute Christmas shopping, the crowd is dense on the sidewalk.

And yet, for Tyrion, it's as if life has come to a standstill.

Cersei is dead. His sister is dead.

Just the thought of it makes her want to curl up, curl up, cry, and let herself die too.

He blames himself, he blames himself to death.

He blames himself for not having called Cersei earlier.

He blames himself for not spending more time with her.

He blames himself for not noticing that she wasn't well, not well at all.

And, most of all, he blames himself, and will never, ever forgive himself for not being there when she passed away.

He knows it's not his fault, the traffic jams, all that, he can't help it, but still, still, that's not what stops the guilt from rising up inside him and overwhelming him.

He wanders around, with no real goal, he thinks he's going back to his car, but he's not sure of anything, he's no longer sure of anything.

* * *

When Tyrion gets back in his car, he is still brooding.

At the crossroads that separates the road to Casterly Rock from the one that leads to Cersei's house, he mechanically takes the one to Cersei's house.

He doesn't realize his mistake until he arrives in front of the house.

He looks at the set of keys next to him, and decides to go, probably for the last time, into the house, to feel the reassuring presence of his big brother and sister.

When he finally enters the house, he realizes that almost nothing has changed.

Everything is still in its place, and for a moment, Tyrion almost expects Cersei to appear, astonished to see him arrive without warning.

But all this is nothing but illusions.

And illusions are not meant to last.

He is quickly, far too quickly caught up by reality, by the horrible reality.

Cersei is not there, Cersei will not appear.

Cersei is no longer there.

Cersei is dead.

Tyrion's eyes fill with tears and, as he turns his heels to leave the room, then the house, not yet ready to face the immense wave of emotions that has already begun to overwhelm him, he sees a cardboard box, closed, lying on the kitchen table.

At first he thinks it is something that Cersei had ordered, but never received, not really, and, piqued by curiosity, despite all the other feelings that are tearing him apart, he approaches it.

What is not his surprise to see, when he is finally within reach of the package, that it is his name, and not Cersei's, that is written on it.

He has to go over it several times, read it and reread it, before he really realizes that the package must be for him.

As he puts his hands on it, lifts it up, weighs it down, something falls on the table, something he hadn't seen before.

He frowns.

It's an envelope.

An envelope, marked with his name.

The tears come back to him when he recognizes the elegant cursive writing.

It is Cersei's handwriting.

He opens the envelope, not knowing what to expect for the contents.

He plunges his hand inside and pulls out a sheet of paper, carefully folded.

A letter.

He unfolds it, and the tears he didn't think he had any more start running down his cheeks.

_Dear Tyrion,_

_If you're reading this letter, I'm probably dead, or almost dead. I'm writing to you mainly because I think I owe you an explanation._

_I ask you, please forgive me for what follows._

_I knew I was sick, and that my condition was getting worse and worse, but I chose not to tell you. I knew this when we were still in Pentos, and I didn't want to spoil those moments with you, when there were so few of them. I didn't want to tell you when I came back either, because I was hoping to make it through Christmas, so that I could spend it with you. I beg you to believe me when I say that nothing could have made me happier._

_I am really, really sorry._

_Next, the package is for you, even though I think you would have seen your name on it, if you found that envelope. It's your Christmas present, so don't open it until the twenty-fifth! (or the twenty-fourth at midnight, but hey, I don't really believe that)._

_I'm asking you not to cry too much for me, because wherever I am, know that I'm happy, with Jaime. Don't make yourself sick with grief like I did, don't throw your life away because of it. Just remember to enjoy each day as if it were your last, because life is too short._

_And finally, I have to write down what I couldn't tell you all these years, when I should have done it a long time ago._

_I love you, little brother._

_Cersei_

The tears flow on the paper, make the ink drool, but it doesn't matter, he still manages to decipher, to read what is written on it.

When he reads the last lines, he can't stop the sobs from coming out, and he cries, he cries, he cries every tear in his body.

When minutes later his tears have dried up, he rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, and looks at the package.

He smiles sadly. He knows that Cersei asked him not to open it until Christmas Day, but finally she knows him. It's much stronger than he is.

He grabs the box and opens it.

He lets out a sound halfway between laughter and sobbing when he takes out the object that was in the package.

A beautiful wooden chessboard, with fine gilding along the edges.

When he turns the tray over, and sees the words engraved in the ebony, there are tears, sobs, memories, feelings.

_In memory of the beautiful games we played. Remember that I love you. Cersei._

* * *

When he returns to Casterly Rock, to see his father, to tell him the news, and he stands in front of his desk, Tyrion remembers the day when, barely two months earlier, he saw his sister storming out of that room, where she came back, after five years of absence, she came back, she came back to tell them that she was leaving, that she was leaving and that she would not come back, ever, again.

The scrap of conversation he had heard will remain forever engraved in his memory, as much as Cersei's little word will remain forever engraved under the chessboard.

_I am not sick, I am dying..._

_As a souvenir of the wonderful games we played. Remember that I love you. Cersei._

As he approaches the door, to knock, to see his father, he realizes that it is already open.

Looking through the gap before knocking and entering, he sees him.

Tywin holds the telephone in one hand, has put his head in the other.

But most of all, and this is the first time Tyrion hears his father do this, Tywin cries.

Almost silent sobs, after all, he doesn't need to be heard all over the manor, he has a reputation to uphold, but sobs all the same.

Tyrion steps back, there's no point in going to see him now, he already knows, the hospital has probably already called him.

He realizes, at that moment, that all the people outside, who were saying that Tywin Lannister was not human, that Tywin Lannister had a heart of stone, that Tywin Lannister had no emotions, no moods, well, they were wrong all along.

Of course they were, Tywin Lannister was human.

Of course he too could cry, mourning a wife and two children.

Everybody could cry, even the lions.

* * *

_Ten years later..._

Tyrion adjusts his costume, checks that his tie is well set up, that's it, he has to hurry, he enters the set in less than two minutes, everything has to be absolutely perfect.

The reporter calls out his name when he makes his entrance, people applaud.

It's the first time he's agreed to participate in a television show since he took over the reins of the Lannister Corporation.

But tonight, he has a topic that is close to his heart.

The reporter greets him, he settles in, he's a little uncomfortable, but it's okay, it'll pass.

The presenter starts right away, trying to relax him a little.

''Good evening, Tyrion.''

He's embarrassed, he's not used to it.

''Good evening, good evening everyone.''

The lady, on the chair next to him, smiles.

''It is a real pleasure to receive you on this tray. Well, we won't introduce you anymore, but we could do a little biographical point, if that's okay?''

He smiles in his turn, feels a little more in his element, and positions himself comfortably.

''That's fine with me.''

''So, you're the son of Tywin Lannister, founder of the Lannister Corporation, or Lanniscorp, is that right?''

''Yes, that's right.''

''So your father bequeathed to you, on his death, the company of which you are now the CEO, and which is one, or if not the largest and richest company in the country, is that right?''''

''Yes, that's right.''

''Very good. So we're going to talk from a slightly more personal point of view, if you don't mind. First of all, your mother dies giving birth to you, if my information is correct.''

Tyrion nods, and the reporter goes on.

''It must have been difficult for you to grow up without a mother, although I understand that your aunt, your father's younger sister, sometimes played that role, especially during your childhood....''

''Yes, that's right.''

''Let's talk a little bit more about your siblings, which will bring us to the subject that brought you here. You're a family of three children, you have an older brother and sister, twins.''

''Yes, Jaime and Cersei.''

''We all know that your family has gone through a lot of drama, even after your mother died. One of those events was the death of your brother in a car accident fifteen years ago, right? How old was he?''

''Yes, that's right, he was in a car accident with my sister while they were going to a friend's house in the evening. My sister survived, but he didn't, unfortunately. He was 25 years old.''

The crowd grimace, twenty-five years old, that's young, it's much too young.

The journalist smiles, compassionate.

''And it's not over yet, because five years after this tragic accident, your sister has been diagnosed with cancer.''

''Yes, which she fought against, but it got the better of her.''

''She was thirty years old, right?''

''Yes, that's right.''

''That brings us to our topic of the day. You have decided to invest, with your company, in cancer research, and more specifically, breast cancer research. Can you explain to us the reason for this investment?''

''Of course. I guess it's better to start at the beginning then. When we were little, with my sister, we didn't get along at all. We hated each other, we fought all the time. When they became adults, my brother and sister decided to move away together, away from Casterly Rock, the family mansion. I loved my brother very much, so I kept in touch with him, but I avoided Cersei as much as I could. Then, seven years later, we received a call from the hospital, telling us that Jaime and Cersei had been in a car accident, and that, unfortunately, Jaime had not survived. I didn't see Cersei again until his funeral, where neither my father nor I spoke to her. And five years later, after we had completely cut off all ties, she came back to tell us that she had terminal breast cancer. I remember being upset when I found out, but I don't really know why, because I hated her. Despite this, we started spending more and more time together. It wasn't easy, it took us a long time, but we managed to build a good relationship. And then she died, shortly before Christmas.''

He's got tears in his eyes now:

''So that's why I chose to invest in and support cancer research, especially breast cancer research. It is a disease that is still taking too many people away, and I will never forget what it has taken from me".

The presenter's eyes, too, shine with tears.

''Well, thank you very much for agreeing to give us this interview, Mr. Tyrion Lannister.''

As Tyrion rises to the applause of the crowd, he takes the microphone again:

''Let me just say one more thing. I'm addressing all of you here today and all those who are watching and listening. Enjoy the people you love, really. We don't realize it, but life is short, much too short, and when, by a whim of fate, these people are taken away from us, it feels like it's just the end of the world...''.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked this fic.  
> If it is the case, don't hesitate to leave a little review, it's always a pleasure ^^


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